


(i talk to God) but the sky is empty.

by flustraaa



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), Criminal Minds RPF
Genre: Anxious Spencer Reid, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally hurt Spencer Reid, Gen, Panic Attacks, Protective Derek Morgan, Sad Spencer Reid, Spencer Reid Whump, Spencer Reid has anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:40:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24622558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flustraaa/pseuds/flustraaa
Summary: “i must get my soul back from you; i am killing my flesh without it.” this is the thought from sylvia plath  that rings through Spencer’s head.he’d lost three days of his twenty fifth year, and his last shreds of innocence to the man who’d taken him years ago.but no matter how hard he tries, it seems like his good time is still being borrowed by ghosts.
Relationships: Emily Prentiss & Spencer Reid, Jennifer "JJ" Jareau & Spencer Reid, Spencer Reid & Aaron Hotchner, Spencer Reid & Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid & The BAU Team
Comments: 5
Kudos: 264





	(i talk to God) but the sky is empty.

They’re all sitting around the round table when it happens, the sheriff walks in the door, holding an evidence bag. Spencer’s eyes zero in on it, and at once his heart beat stutters, breaths rattling in his chest. 

Maybe it’s not what you think it is, he tells himself, trying desperately to advert his eyes. 

But they always find their way back. 

“What is it?” Emily murmurs, and Spencer manages to derail his eyes to her. 

He takes in every detail that he possibly can; it’s a desperate attempt to disassociate, and it’s failing miserably. 

Emily is wearing a gray pantsuit, a soft pink shirt underneath the blazer. Her hands lay over the case file, lax and there’s not a single sign of tension (or, at least more than there usually is). 

It’s too late though, Spencer’s not far enough in his head to ignore the conversation. 

“We ran it through the lab. It’s a narcotic called Hydromorphone, they cut it with Dimethyltryptamine,” the sheriff says, “this is about the hardest combination I’ve ever seen, it’s no wonder he’s having a psychotic break. 

They all look to Spencer for clarifications, but it only takes one look at his face to realise why the name sounds so familiar. He seems to pull himself together enough to clarify, swallowing hard as he separates his eyes from the bottle. 

He fidgets with his hands in his lap, his words spoken in a hoarse croak, “It’s Dilaudid, it’s cut with DMT— which is considered the most powerful hallucinogenic out there. I need to go to the bathroom.” 

Before anyone can object, he’s out of his chair and out of the room. Everyone looks to Morgan who nods, following after him. 

“What just happened?” 

Those remaining look at each other helplessly, quickly segueing. 

Meanwhile, Morgan is too late. Reid’s already locked the door behind him. 

“Reid, open up,” Morgan calls, relentlessly pounding on the door, “I don’t care if you’re naked, open the doors, Kid.” 

Morgan glances around hastily, eyes settling in on a pair of paper clips on the desk to his right. He snatches them up, unlocking the bathroom door; he slips in before anyone can see him. 

“You can’t put your walls— oh, _shit_ ,” he blurts, eyes looking anxiously over spencer, “Kid?” 

Spencer is basically doing a spot on imitation of a quaking aspen from his place on the ground, hands interlocked over the back of his neck, knees pulled up to his chest as he tries desperately to breath around rasping breaths. 

Morgan sits beside him, reaching out but jumping right alone with Spencer at the touch. 

“Alright, if there’s ever been a time to listen to me, it’s now Kid,” He breathes, resting a hand on Spencer knee, “I need you to tell me five things you can see.” 

Spencer wheezes, stuttering and stumbling around his words, desperately trying to force something out.

“It’s okay, you’re okay. Ground yourself to something. Can you put your hands on the floor for me?” He watches as the white knuckled grips round his neck loosens, his right hand slowly sinking to press against cool tile flooring.

The problem however, occurs when Spencer tries to remove his other hand from his neck. A shudder wracks through his body and he shakes his head— it’s barely a movement, uncoordinated and testy at best.

“C-can’t-t,” he struggles around the hard consonants, the words sticking to his tongue like peanuts butter on a dogs mouth.

“That’s okay, one is better than none. Breathe for me,” once again, the only confirmation that the kids is ever remotely processing any of this is an unsteady motion from his head.

His eyes are squeezed tightly shut, teeth chattering and face sheet white. The Kid looks like he’s seen a ghost, and the impending realisation of the matter descends on Morgan right in that moment— in some way, Reid probably is seeing ghosts.

They’re just haunting his head, and soul.

“Alright, tell me five things you see, if it’s easier just give me colours,” he feels relief course through him, knowing the words are going through his head when Spencer opens his eyes.

Tears are still spilling down his cheeks, but he sees Spencer’s eyes first land on the napkin dispenser across the way.

“B-bl—“ he shuts his eyes again, clearly getting frustrated.

“Blue, keeping going,” Morgan encourages softly, “You’re doing great. I’ll follow your eyes and say the colours for you, okay?”

In lieu of response, Spencer simply open his eyes, looking at the tile beneath him, and Morgan says, “grey and white.”

He follows Spencer’s eyes to the door, “Good, brown, keep going.”

Next, he lands on the faucet, “silver, good, two more.”

Then, the bathroom stalls, “Good, more blue.”

Finally, his eyes land on Morgan’s t-shirt. His teeth are still chattering fiercely, his breaths still rustling through his lungs, and shaking like a leaf. However, his eyes can stand to look at the world around him.

“Okay, now four things besides work that you can think about,” Morgan says softly, watching as Reid licks his lips and starts to force our syllables.

“M-mom, b-books, m-math, a-an-an-and s-spide-ders-s,” He rasps, still struggling to form a fully coherent sentence around his chattering teeth.

He’s stopped shaking, hands now pressed firmly to the floor as he tries to suck in a full breath. 

“Sh-shit,” he blurts, and Morgan blinks at the word choice as Reid falls into his friends chest. 

He was wrong, the kid _was_ still shaking.

“Are you still with me?” He feels Spencer nod against his chest, and he continues, “can I hug you?”

And to his surprise, Reid nods. Morgan bring his arms up, pulling the kid close to his chest.

He’s not sure how long passes, but eventually the chattering, shivering, and panting comes to a stop, replaced with emotionally exhausted breaths.

“Hey,” Morgan falls softly, “Are you with me still?”

“ _Barely_ ,” Spencer mumbles, “can I sleep?”

“Sure, but let’s get you off the bathroom floor. There’s a couch with your name on it, okay? Just stand up for me,” Morgan coos, not unlike he would if he were talking to Henry.

Slowly, Spencer slips himself back, taking Morgan’s hands, allowing himself to be hauled to his feet.

When he finally drags Spencer back into the room, the sheriff has made himself scarce, and the team look like they’ve made a worried mess of themselves.

“Alright, Kid, easy. When do you want us to wake you up?” Spencer doesn’t respond, deep and exhausted breaths filling the room the second his head meets the armrest.

Morgan just sighs, picking up the blanket that JJ had been sitting under when she was cold earlier. He takes care to tuck Spencer in before turning his attention back to the team.

“What happened—“ JJ’s the first to speak, and Emily is still biting at her nails.

“He had a panic attack on the bathroom floor. How long were we gone?” Morgan fires back, running a hand over his face.

“Over an hour,” Hotch answers, eyes focused on Spencer, a soft look behind them, “Is he—“

“I think so. I think the shock of seeing it just threw him through a loop. He couldn’t get a single word out until about ten minutes ago. I’ve never seen him like that,” Morgan mutters, “It was terrifying.”

“How’d you convince him to sleep?”

“I didn’t,” Morgan shrugs, “I had to convince him to move to a more comfortable surface, if he had his way he’d be knocked out on the _bathroom floor._ ”

A silence falls over the room, and JJ breaks off, closing the blinds and brushing the hair out of his eyes.

“We should... we should let him sleep.”

The room agrees numbly, sparing one last glance at the sleeping genius, before making their way out of the room.


End file.
